


Practically Magic

by lachatblanche



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Practical Magic Fusion, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Eventual Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, No Actual Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28990479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: The Xaviers, it was clear, were witches, and witches, the stern mothers of Graymalkin Lane told their wide-eyed children, were most definitely to be avoided.Charles and Raven Xavier grow up knowing they are different from the people around them. For a long time they just have each other and that's enough. But being different can be a lonely thing - and sometimes, it also brings trouble.An AU loosely based onPractical Magic.
Comments: 36
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

The house on Graymalkin, it was said, belonged to witches.

Children would whisper about it to each other as they passed: _they’re witches, they’ll get you, they’ll catch you_.

The parents weren’t much better. ‘All sorts go on in _there_ ,’ they would say, giving each other dark, significant looks. They wouldn’t say anything further than that; then again, they didn’t have to. It was common knowledge: there was something _unnatural_ about 1407 Graymalkin Lane.

Strange things occurred in that house. Odd whispers were carried over in the wind, ghostly figures appeared at windows, eyes would watch you from behind curtains pulled close during the bright light of day … It was a strange, unwelcoming, unnatural place.

Much of that, it was agreed, was down to the children.

The children. The Xavier heirs. It was difficult to even know how many of them there were. Sometimes there looked to be twins; other times, one appeared older than the other, or there were two boys and later, a boy and girl.

In general, it was thought that there were two of them. A girl – a sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued hellion, more like a wild thing than a girl – who was a terror to any mother with a little daughter, a manifestation of the worst possible outcome for their child. Grown-ups would never look at her too closely: if they did then they might have to rationalise the way that her eyes, which a moment ago had been blue, were now green as grass, or how her short, jet black hair was, two minutes later, long and scarlet red.

And as for the boy … well, the boy was, if possible, even more unnerving, with his strange, eerie eyes and his habit of answering your questions before you had even opened your mouth, and the way he seemed to know things that _no one_ let alone a child should know.

The Xaviers, it was clear, were witches, and witches, the stern mothers of Graymalkin Lane told their wide-eyed children, were most definitely to be avoided.

And so it was: the Xavier house became the odd little house at the end of the lane, the one that one Just Didn’t Talk About if it could be helped, with the inhabitants that you Just Didn’t Mix With, even it couldn’t.

It might have been lonely, for the Xavier siblings, had they cared very much.

Luckily, they didn’t.

The Xaviers had always kept themselves aloof from the rest of the neighbourhood, and the children had been brought up to think that this was a perfectly natural state of affairs. The avoidance of their neighbours, therefore, meant very little to them.

They also very much preferred their own company.

Charles Xavier was almost frighteningly self-sufficient and was perfectly happy tucked away in a corner with a book on his own, and Raven Xavier was equally happy to play by herself, running around and whirling about and crawling into every nook and cranny the vast old mansion possessed. Many a day could be spent in this way, and more could be spent together, wrapped around each other, heads bent together, the two of them against the world, with no need for anyone else. Not for their father or mother and certainly not anyone from out there, with their goggling eyes and cruel mouths and silly, stupid ideas.

At least, that’s what they’d both tell the other. If the elder of the two, Charles, ever felt a pang of wistfulness when he looked at the groups of other children playing together then he never spoke of it. Raven, however, always seemed to know when he was feeling such a way and would always emerge from whatever hiding place she had found and would cuddle up to him, wrapping her tiny arms around him, and he in turn would wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.

_I’m okay_ , he would tell her, twining his mind around hers. _Don’t worry about me_.

And then to distract her he would take her into his mind and show her all of the wonderful things he had dreamt up there: castles and butterflies and dragons and jungles and unicorns and magic and all of the other things that she liked best.

Raven would be filled with wonder and would clap her little blue hands with delight, enraptured by the magic taking place in front of her.

‘Charles,’ she would often ask at such times, sounding breathless. ‘Are we witches?’

Charles’s answer to that question would always be the same. ‘We are not witches, Raven,’ he would tell her reasonably, affectionately, tightening his arms around her. ‘It’s all just science, you know. Our abilities stem from our genes, our DNA, not from spells and sorcery.’

But Raven always merely shrugged, unconvinced and uncaring. ‘It’s practically magic,’ she would say and Charles would shake his head, disapproving, but unable to wholly disagree.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles and Raven could have lived quite happily away from the rest of the world if they had been allowed to.

Unfortunately for them, there were always those who made unwanted intrusions into their otherwise perfectly contented little lives and, more often than not, those intrusions were harsh and painful.

‘Witch scum,’ sneered a large, curly haired boy, glaring at them through the gates that bordered the estate. He and his cronies had spotted the Xavier children through gaps in the metal grilles and had paused to catcall and shout at them.

As Raven and Charles stared blankly at the jeering crowd, one of the boys stooped down, picked up a stone from the ground and then, with an evil gleam in his eye, threw it hard through the bars of the gate. His aim was good; the stone struck Raven on the forehead, hard. It knocked her down, and she fell with a sharp cry of pain.

‘Raven!’ Charles stared in shock at his sister who a moment before had been standing beside him and the next, was on the ground. He stared with wide eyes at her head, at the cut that now marred her smooth little forehead, bleeding profusely. Raven stared back at him, shocked, her eyes full of hurt and – though she struggled valiantly against it – tears. Charles looked down helplessly at her; then his expression turned cold. He turned around, his eyes flashing with ice as he gazed at the crowd of children behind him.

‘Go!’ he shouted and the command was backed up by a surge of power. _Go go go go_. ‘Keep away from us! Leave us alone!’

His words echoed in every head for miles around. Charles turned his back on them all, cradling a stunned, teary Raven in his arms, his power still reverberating around him.

_Keep away from us, keep away, keep away._

He repeated those words again and again, pouring every fibre of his being into them.

_Keep away from us, keep away, keep away_. Over and over and over, refusing to stop.

It was only when a small, hesitant blue hand pushed gently at him, nudging away his arm, that he stopped, opening his eyes and looking down. Raven looked back at him, small, red-eyed and with a nasty cut on her head, still bleeding, but her expression was calm and without fear. She had at some point changed back into her blue form, but that didn’t matter now; there was no one to see her.

‘Let’s go home,’ she said quietly, patting her hand against Charles’s, her voice shaky but firm. Charles hesitated for a moment and then nodded, his shoulders slumping miserably. They returned home in silence, hand in hand, clutching fiercely to one another.

Raven soon forgot about the incident, although she never fully forgave it or the townsfolk who had hurt her. Charles, on the other hand, was not so quick to forget. The thought of Raven being injured again sent a wave of horror through him each time he thought about it – and so he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He used his power.

_Keep away_. They were happiest when they were left alone, he told himself. When all they had to worry about was themselves. When they didn’t have to be afraid, to be scared of people finding out about their powers or thinking them strange and trying to hurt them … 

_Keep away, keep away, keep away_. Charles sent the words out every night, his eyes closed and his little hands clenched into fists. _Keep away from us. Unless you are like us, unless you will love us and protect us. If you mean us harm then keep away, keep away, keep away …_

Charles did not know it then, but his desire was so strong and his power so great that his wish lingered in the air around him and Raven for a long time after he had made it.

This he didn’t find out until much later.


	3. Chapter 3

The _Keep Away_ wish, as the children named it, did indeed keep everyone away; though, to be fair, most people had always kept away from them to begin with. The same held true even in their own household: Mrs. Xavier had long been an absent parent and the attention of the Markos – their stepfather Kurt and stepbrother Cain – though dangerous, was thankfully rare.

Charles and Raven, then, grew up all but alone except for each other, free from the interference of outsiders. They played with no other children and rarely talked to anyone outside the Xavier house.

‘It’s just as well,’ Raven sniffed, dismissive. ‘None of them are worth talking to.’

Charles wasn’t entirely sure this was true but he remembered how dangerous the outsiders had been and so he said nothing, even though he sometimes longed to be able to find and speak to someone who shared his interests; Raven, for all her virtues, failed to show any interest in the subjects he loved best. The Keep Away wish, however, did its work far too well and so Charles was left to study his books alone.

Only one person seemed immune to the Keep Away wish. Charles and Raven had discovered him while running through the woods that lined the Xavier estate and had stared in astonishment at the sight of the rough, hairy man standing there, blinking at them through very bushy eyebrows.

Charles had been the first to speak. ‘Hello,’ he had said, holding out a small, pale hand. ‘My name is Charles.’

The man had stared at him for a long moment and had then let out a loud huff. ‘Name’s Logan,’ he had said, leaning against a tree and pulling a thick cigar from out of his waistband. He had then casually nodded over to where Raven was standing a little behind Charles. ‘Who’s the blue kid?’

Charles and Raven had stared in each other in fright until the man, snorting, had caused a bone claw to shoot through the skin of his knuckles and used it to cut off the end of his cigar. ‘Relax,’ he had drawled, taking the cigar in between his teeth and looking down at them calmly. ‘You ain’t as special as all that.’

And so Charles and Raven had been introduced to another person like them; the only person, except for themselves, who was _special_.

‘Are you a witch?’ Raven had asked eagerly, running her wide eyes over Logan, her hands clenched almost painfully tight around Charles’s arm in her excitement.

Logan snorted. ‘Do I look like a goddamn witch?’ he had drawled and that, really had been the end of that. It was the start, however, of an all-new vocabulary for the children.

‘Goddamn,’ he would often say, shaking his head when the children exposed ignorance of the world outside.

‘Goddamn,’ Raven and Charles would whisper under their breaths, delighted, repeating the word over and over again. Logan proved to be a veritable treasure trove of all sorts of interesting words like that and he was very generous with them, though every now and then he would stop and glare at Charles and Raven as if he had just remembered that they were children and would tell them to ‘ _stop fucking cursing, you goddamn brats_ ’, which would only delight the two further.

Logan came in and out of their lives like the wind. He would come by and stay with them for a few days before arbitrarily deciding to pack up and leave, going wherever the breeze would take him. He was often gone for long periods of time and sometimes he didn’t even say goodbye, but he would always eventually return, ‘to check in on you little assholes’, he would tell them gruffly and would then, apparently grudgingly, accept their eager hugs and the tight clasps of their hands.

In a way, Logan was more of a parent to them than their own parents had been. Raven asked Charles once, after Logan had left anew, whether or not the reason he was able to come and see them was because he wasn’t affected by the power of the Keep Away wish.

‘What?’ Charles had asked, confused.

‘The Keep Away wish,’ Raven had repeated patiently. ‘Logan is like us, and he loves us and wants to protect us. That’s why he doesn’t have to keep away.’

Charles frowned at that, half-remembered words drifting into his mind on the breeze. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said doubtfully. ‘My powers don’t work on Logan, remember?’

But he had remembered the words more fully, later on that night, and had wondered.


	4. Chapter 4

In time, Charles and Raven grew up. Growing up meant changing and indeed, things did change for them. Suddenly, the boys and girls who had sneered and scorned them now raised their eyes and gazed after them wistfully. Eyes would trail up the long line of Raven’s legs to the hem of her scandalously short skirt and the unbuttoning of one button at the neck of Charles’s shirt was enough to set off a spate of fainting spells in the near vicinity.

Charles and Raven were very well aware of the effect that they had on the people of the town. Charles was mindful enough to recognise that desire often brought on more ugly emotions like jealousy and resentment but Raven simply did not care what havoc she left in her wake. She stole hearts and broke hearts with barely a thought and really, Charles was little better, though he acted with more kindness and care than his sister.

‘You need to watch yourselves,’ Logan said grimly on one of his visits to the mansion, when the broken-hearted girlfriend of one of Raven’s – or was it Charles’s? – many conquests came up to the house to scream at them through the mansion gates. ‘You need to keep your heads down, bubs. Attractin’ this kind of attention … it never ends well.’

Raven tossed her long, glossy blonde hair in response. ‘It’s hardly _our_ fault,’ she huffed. ‘ _We_ don’t do anything. It’s _them_ out there that keep on making fools of themselves.’

Charles had pointedly eyed the very low neckline of his sister’s blouse but was smart enough not to say anything.

‘Maybe so,’ Logan had agreed, his thick eyebrows furrowed. ‘But the thing about people is that they don’t like being thought of as fools. It makes them angry. It makes them start blamin’ people. And you two,’ he turned his eyes sharply on Raven and Charles. ‘You two are easier to blame than most.’

Raven rolled her eyes. Charles, however, took the words to heart.

*****

Three weeks later, a fight broke out in a restaurant car park between a handful of Raven’s suitors, causing an almighty uproar in town and sending three previously mild and well-behaved young men to the hospital with a police car in tow, the loud flashing sirens causing a stir in the otherwise peaceful, quiet little town.

The whispers started to get ugly.

_The Xavier brats … she enchanted them … they’re witches … **they** did this._

Some days later a group of teenagers drove by the house, one of them throwing a rock as they passed. It didn’t hit anything; the house was much too far from the gates to be in any danger.

A few days after that Charles and Raven came down to the gates to find that one of the metal bars had been bent, as if someone had tried to force their way through. On investigating, they found the side of the house covered in large red spray-painted letters, spelling out one damning word: _WITCH_.

Charles took no chances. He immediately signed his early-entry Oxford acceptance letter, bought two tickets to London, grabbed hold of Raven and spirited them away before trouble could come knocking.

Neither of them returned until seven years later, for the funeral of their mother, Sharon Xavier.


	5. Chapter 5

Charles stood alone by the gravestone of his mother, water dripping from the edge of his umbrella and down the sleeve of his arm. He was, at twenty-four, an orphan, a thought that was somehow shocking for all that he had, in truth, been virtually parentless for years.

He was also alone, in more ways than one. The Markos had barely stayed till the end of the funeral, and whatever guests had arrived for the ceremony had long since left. Only he remained, the lone mourner at the grave of a parent who in all likelihood hadn’t spared him a second thought for more than half a decade.

Raven, perhaps unsurprisingly, had not come to the funeral. In fact, Charles hadn’t seen her in years. They had lived together in Oxford for a few years before Raven had grown tired by the restrictiveness of the life and, kissing her brother goodbye, had flown the coop, heading off into the sunset to travel the world and make of it what she would. Since then, there had been letters and postcards and the occasional phone-call – all mostly on Charles’s side rather than hers – but Charles always had a sense of her, wherever she went in the world. Whether it was from his telepathy or from something else entirely he did not know, but, if he concentrated, he was always able to feel her somehow. He would know if she was happy, if she was hurt or tired or in pain. He would know – he would _feel_ it – when she was thinking of him, which she did enough for him not to feel _too_ anxious that she was forgetting him. He missed her, badly, but the connection between them calmed him. As long as they had that, they were okay.

Only now mother had died and Raven wasn’t here and Charles was angry. It was all very well for Raven to waltz her way around the world doing as she pleased and for Charles to love and support her from afar. But now – on such an occasion – he needed her, and the fact that she hadn’t come back for this – back for _him_ , was, in all honesty, hurtful.

He waited by his mother’s graveside for as long as he could bear it. Then he turned and strode back into the great old house of his childhood, alone.

Perhaps inevitably, he got drunk that evening. It was an occurrence that recurred far too often these days, if Charles were being honest with himself, but, given the circumstances, on this occasion Charles felt himself entitled to indulge.

He was on perhaps his fourth glass of the evening, sitting alone in the study of the empty, draughty old house – _his_ house – when the knocking began.

_Rat a tat a tat. Rat a tat a tat._

It was fast, furious, and very, very loud and, Charles knew in an instant, it was the handiwork of his sister, Raven.

He was out of the room in seconds and moments later he ripped open the door to the mansion and there, smiling a brittle smile, tired, and wholly beloved stood Raven, his sister.

He opened his mouth to say her name, to berate her, to welcome her, to shout—

And then she spoke.

‘Charles,’ she said. ‘Charles – I need help.’


	6. Chapter 6

Being alone, Raven told him, folded against him on the sofa with a wine glass in hand, had been intoxicating. For the first time in her life, she had found herself free, truly free, to do what she pleased. She may have been a whirlwind before she had left, but after leaving she had become a virtual tornado, cutting swathes from city to city, collecting and then dismissing lovers and admirers with no more care than one would use to flick a loose hair off one’s shoulder.

So it had been for many years, and she had been more than happy with the state of affairs.

And then she had fallen in love.

At least, she hurried to explain, taking in the expression on her brother’s face, it had been a _sort_ of love. _Infatuation_ may well be the better word.

From the moment she had laid eyes on Azazel sitting alone by the bar, his eyes fixed on her, she had been lost. It had been like a fly walking into the lair of a spider, she explained; she had gone up to him, intending to make him her conquest – only it had turned out quite the reverse. She had been the one conquered and tamed, and from that day on it had been the two of them against the world – Raven and Azazel, gorgeous and happy and in love.

Or so she had thought.

It had started when they began to run out of money. Raven had been living off her allowance from the Xavier estate which had been more than enough to see to her comfort. The addition of Azazel, however, not to mention his enjoyment of fine living and expensive alcohol, meant that what had previously been a generous stipend that had lasted Raven months now ran out within days … and out with it ran Azazel’s previous ease and voluble good nature.

‘He started making me use my powers,’ she told Charles miserably, hunched over her knees, her sleeves pulled over her hands in a way that reminded Charles very much of a much younger Raven. ‘He used to make me change shape so that I could rob or steal or trick people out of their money … and he did the same too.’ She looked at Charles, her eyes red. ‘He was like us, Charles. He had powers. That’s – that’s why I liked him so much. He was like _me_.’ Tears came to her eyes and she bent her head so that her blonde hair fanned out like a curtain over her face.

She had borne it however – love had blinded her and she had been desperate to make things work. But then Azazel got violent.

‘It was almost a good thing, really,’ Raven said quickly upon feeling the air swell with Charles’s anger. ‘It knocked some sense into me – literally. I began to realise that I had to get out. Quick. So I did.’ She paused and then swallowed. ‘But he followed,’ she said tightly. ‘He wouldn’t let me go – he just kept following me.’

Azazel, she explained, had the power to disappear and reappear at will and was able to cover large distances in only a matter of seconds. It therefore did not matter where she went or how far she ran: eventually, inevitably, he would always find her, and things would only get worse after.

‘I ran for so long,’ Raven sighed, and her exhaustion was clear in her words. ‘I can’t tell you how long. I almost came to you in Oxford,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘But I decided against it. I didn’t want to involve you. So I stayed away.’

Charles looked pained. ‘And you suffered alone,’ he said bitterly. ‘I should have been there for you, Raven. I should have known. How didn’t I know? I’ve always known when you were in trouble … when you needed help. I thought – I thought I would _know_.’

‘I didn’t want you to know,’ Raven said immediately, reaching forward and grasping his knee. ‘It’s not your fault, Charles. I closed myself off … I tried as hard as I could to keep it all from you, I was too proud – I couldn’t bear you finding out what a mess I’d made of things. I wanted to deal with everything on my own.’ She paused then, her expression flickering. ‘And then … mother died.’

Charles closed his eyes. ‘And then mother died,’ he repeated dully. He had not heard Raven call her ‘mother’ for a very long time; she had always been ‘Sharon’ to her, ever since she was little.

‘I couldn’t stay away after that,’ Raven continued, her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘It’s strange … I never gave a damn about Sharon and she never gave a damn about me, but even so … I suddenly didn’t want to be alone. I knew it was time to come home … time to come back to you.’

Charles’s mouth twisted. ‘I guess that’s one good thing that Sharon did then,’ he said dryly, picking up his glass of wine and draining it.

Raven watched him, her smile sad. ‘It’s good to see you, Charles,’ she said quietly. Her fingers timidly crept into his own, tentatively lacing their hands together.

Charles sighed. He put down his glass with his left hand and then clasped Raven’s hand tighter with his right. ‘It’s good to see you too,’ he said, and, for the first time in what felt like forever, smiled tiredly at her.

‘Maybe we could—’ Raven began but then there was a loud _bang_ from outside, making them jump.

Raven and Charles looked at each other.

‘It’s the door,’ Charles said with a frown. ‘Someone’s knocking on the door.’

Another loud bang on the door made them both jump. Then there were four more knocks, each rapped out in almost a playful sort of rhythm: _knock-knock-knock-knock_. Raven went white.

‘Oh god,’ she whispered. ‘He’s here.’

‘You can’t know—’ Charles began but Raven was shaking her head.

‘It’s him,’ she whispered, no trace of doubt in her mind. ‘It’s him, Charles. I know it.’

Charles frowned. ‘But you said he was a teleporter,’ he said slowly, looking at her. ‘If he could teleport then why is he waiting for us outside?’

Raven’s jaw was tight. ‘Because that’s how he is,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘This is what he does. He wants me to go to him. To open the door to him. To – to invite him in.’

‘Well, that’s not happening,’ Charles said flatly. The haze of alcohol that surrounded him seemed to have disappeared. ‘Raven, what—‘

But Raven was already drifting over to the door, almost helpless, like a moth drawn to a fatal flame.

‘Raven!’ Charles was after her in a flash, grabbing hold of her arm. ‘Don’t do this, don’t open the door—’

‘It’ll only make things worse if I don’t.’ Raven’s voice was calm and even. All traces of her earlier fear had disappeared. ‘And it’s not like he couldn’t get in here otherwise.’ She turned to Charles, a grim smile on her face. ‘Don’t worry, Charles,’ she said, clasping her brother’s hand and then gently pushing it off her arm. ‘I’ll deal with this.’

Charles swallowed but reluctantly stepped aside. He watched as Raven walked down the hall and approached the door, her expression smooth and relaxed. He wasn’t fooled: Raven, he knew, always became eerily calm when things were at their worst.

He watched as Raven halted in doorway; she paused, braced herself and then opened the door.


End file.
